Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/71

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

IAGO

The secret of the child, the bird, the night,
Faded, flouted, bespattered, in days so far
Hate cannot bitter them, nor wrath deny;
Else were this Desdemona. . . . Why!
Woman a harlot is, and life a nest
Fouled by long ages of forked fools. And God —
lago deals not with a tale so dull:
To have made the world! Fie on thee, Artisan!

57

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.